Take My Word for It (3 page)

But what if Mum's sick or something? I'm so cut off here. I hate the way this place does that.

M
ARCH
15

Dear Monsieur Diary, this debate's more trouble than it's worth. I've been trying to organise a meeting—shouldn't be hard with three people—plus Miss Curzon wants to be there, because she's our coach. But someone's always got something else on, and Rikki doesn't know if she can do it at all. We were going to have a meeting this afternoon but the rowing bus was so late that we didn't get back till tea had started. Cathy's collected some great quotes though, from a book in the library. ‘Every time you win, you're reborn; when you lose, you die a little.' That's from a guy called George Allen. Then there's one from someone called O. J. Simpson: ‘Show me a gracious loser and I'll show you a perennial loser.' I agree with that.

Ann's in Sick Bay at the moment, having a good bludge. She's so weak. Every time there's a crossie she gets a note from Matron to say she's got stomach cramps. She must have a period a week. An hour before she went to Sick Bay she was in the dorm listening to my ‘Black as Sin' tape and eating Caramellos.

I finally got through to Mum. She only wanted to know whether I'd have time to go to the orthodontist at Easter, when I'm due for my next visit. I said I would. She told me ‘Wombat' Edgar had died: he was one of our workers on ‘Connewarre'. He would have been the oldest one but he wasn't that old. After we sold the place he worked for the new owners for a few months, then he went to ‘Blendon' and worked for the Kirbys. Mum didn't know much about how he died: she just saw it in the paper. I'm pretty cut about it, to tell you the truth. ‘Wombat' drank a lot but he was good to us kids and he was a good worker. When I was little I used to follow him round for hours, and he'd always bring the poddy lambs to me. He had a dog called Jess: I wonder what's happened to her.

I tried to ring Huw too, for someone sympathetic to talk to, but I got chucked off the phone by a Year 11 girl, Jayne Butler, who's probably the biggest bitch in the entire house.

M
ARCH
16

Got back early from rowing, so I did the Horseshoe crossie again. Everyone thinks I'm mad but I don't care. I want to get fit, and I want to lose weight.

I think about Hawaii as I run, and I imagine what it'll be like running along the beaches there. The trouble is, Dad's let us down so many times in the past that I know I'm stupid to pin too much hope on this trip. At first I didn't let myself think about it, but it's finally got through to me and now I dream about it all the time. But I swear, if he stands us up on this, I'll never forgive him: never, never, never.

M
ARCH
19

Don't think I've ever written in my Journal at weekends, but I'm so bored and fed up I thought it'd be something to do. Can't wait till Easter and Hawaii and tropical nights and mangoes and pineapples, and big dark guys in colourful shorts coming out of the surf with the water running off them, and their white teeth shining. Most of all though I want to spend some time with Dad, and talk to him, really talk to him, the way some girls seem to talk to their fathers. I don't want to be selfish, but in a way I wish Chloe wasn't coming, so I could talk to him on my own. We've never really spent any time together, just the two of us, and when we have we've never talked about much.

I spilled my guts badly in the dorm Friday night, when Emma started saying how her parents had split up and now they won't have anything to do with each other and she has to pass messages from one to the other. Last year her mother was going to fly out here for Speech Day but then she found Emma's father was going to be there, so she wouldn't come. That started a whole big discussion about parents. After a while, for some reason, I joined in and told them how my parents split up the day I started school here, last year. They drove me here and dropped me off, acting like normal, then they went home and packed up and moved out. Mum went to Mt Sandon and Dad went to his flat in South Mandrill. He put ‘Connewarre' on the market the next day. Then they wrote me letters to tell me what they'd done. I didn't tell these guys the whole story: how I'd caused it and everything, but I told them enough. Too much really. I don't like it when people get all mushy and sympathetic. But they were OK.

Yesterday we had the WRC Regatta and I rowed like I wanted to lift the boat out of the water, but we only came fourth. It's so frustrating. Kizzy's good, and Rebecca's OK—at least she tries—but Kate is just too slack, and as for Myra! (she's our cox). I wish we had Tash back, but she got put up to the Thirds. Myra abuses us so much when we make a mistake and her steering's hopeless—she nearly put us into an MLC boat on the way down to the start.

Just for fun I went in the single sculls, and amazed myself by winning the U17's. There were only four starters, but still. I got quite a good time and won by about two lengths.

Today hasn't been much. There's a tree I sit in when I want to get away from everyone, and I often go there on Sundays. I read a book, or I watch all the happy families and wonder if I'll ever deserve to join them. Lately I've been sharing my tree—with Marina. She perches there like a terrified rabbit . . . not that I've ever seen a rabbit up a tree . . . and we both watch the free show up and down the drive. She's a sad case, Marina. After a while you don't notice her face any more—she's just another person around the place. But the trouble is after a while you don't notice her at all. She's like a ghost in the dorm. Then you think, ‘Gee I've been ignoring her for ages', and you feel guilty and try to be friendly again.

I wonder if she'll ever talk. She must, surely. You can't exist without communicating.

Miss Curzon said she'll have some surgery on her face eventually, but she has to finish growing first.

I've gotta go—it's nearly tea-time. At least writing this has filled in an hour or so. I'm not looking forward to tea—Sunday tea's always the worst meal of the week. Oh, I nearly forgot! Sophie got busted for smoking this morning. Mrs Graham found her in the locker room with her cigarettes on the bench beside her, right out in the open. Fair up, I reckon. She only got three hours, which is pretty lucky. She has to do them before she goes home for Easter though.

Only four more nights' sleep, then I'm on the plane!

M
ARCH
20

Dearest Journal, today I got great news, wonderful news. Miss Warren told me at lunchtime I was going up to the Thirds. I'm absolutely rapt. I'll be the highest placed rower in Year 9. It's a great crew: I'll have Tash as cox again, and Skye Wills, from Year 11, is stroke—she's really nice. Then there's ‘Stevie' Szanto, who's also in Year 11, and Annabel Kimpton from Year 10. I think I'm replacing Brenna Buckley, which I'm a bit embarrassed about. I'm sorry to be leaving my crew too—well, most of them, especially Kizzy—and I don't know what I think of having Mr Bostock as coach. But I'll make it work. It's such an honour. It's a big change for them, with the State titles on April 29—just over a month away.

I can't write any more—we've got a debating meeting in a minute.

Three nights to go! Hawaii—I love you.

M
ARCH
21

The debate's just finished, and we didn't get Prep set tonight, so I might as well write in this for a while. It's a bit stupid—we have to sit here for twenty minutes, till the bell goes, even though we don't have any work. We should have spun the debate out for the whole of Prep, but that might have been hard, seeing none of us spoke for our full time. We weren't very good, and we lost by about 20 points. Dr Whiteley was there, and she didn't look too impressed. I still think winning is everything, but we should have proved it by beating St Margaret's.

It was pretty nerve-racking speaking to all those people. Next time I'll have my notes better organised. I left out about three major points and stuffed up the ending.

I think it's because of Dad that I'm so keen on winning. He went to the Olympics and to two Commonwealth Games for his swimming—he was a middle-distance freestyler. He won two bronzes at the Commonwealth Games—one for 400 metres and one for a relay. My biggest ambition is to row in an Olympic crew. I've been waiting till Thursday to tell Dad about my going up to the Thirds: he'll be rapt.

Just two more nights!

M
ARCH
22

Got a message from Chloe that Hawaii's cancelled. Dad's too busy. I've got to go to Mt Sandon instead. It's typical. Trust him not to tell me himself. He wrecks me when he does things like this. I hate him, that's all there is to it. He's such a rotten, miserable, selfish slimebag. I thought we were really going this time. Congratulations Dad, Mr Reliable—you sucked me in again. But that's the last time.

I hate the way I'm crying all over this page and messing up the paper. I'm going to stop writing.

A
PRIL
3

I haven't done my Journal for two weeks, almost. Haven't been in the mood, plus we've had the Easter break. I've been rowing my skin off (literally—I've got beautiful blisters) and running. I'm trying to be nicer to people too—I think I was pretty bitchy for the first month or two of term.

A
PRIL
4

Cracked an hour from Dr Thorley for nothing today—we're doing the feudal system in History, and she was saying how the moats presented problems for the attackers in their armour, and I muttered to Sophie ‘Yeah, like rust,' and I got an hour for that.

A
PRIL
5

Mrs Marina herself has just paid us a visit. I was so hyperactive with curiosity that I didn't politely go out of the dorm, like I should have, but instead stayed on my bed, pretending to read. First Marina came in, walking quickly on her toes and not looking at me. Then Mrs Graham, with this lady who I knew straight away had to be Marina's mum. She was tall, with red hair, and dressed in a black leather coat and tight black pants. Stunning stuff. Not a lot like her daughter. She had that bright lipstick on but she looked a bit tired—I think she's been overseas, so maybe she just got back.

What was funny was the way they managed to have a conversation without Marina ever saying anything. It was like: ‘Do you need your winter dressing-gown do you think?' and they both looked at Marina, then Mrs Graham said: ‘Well, the nights certainly have been crisp lately,' then Marina's mother said: ‘What do the other girls have?' and they both looked at Marina again. But while they were looking at her, Mrs Graham was answering: ‘Well, most of them do bring back a winter gown, even though the dorm is heated.'

Marina's mum asked Marina: ‘Are all your new things marked? The things Grandma got you?' and Mrs Graham said: ‘Matron takes care of all that. She's very thorough. She has to be of course!' and they both laughed politely and Marina's mum said: ‘Yes, I don't know how you do it. So many girls!'

It went on like that for about ten minutes. I suppose it was a bit sad really. Mrs Marina just talked to her daughter like she was a girl in a shop.

Anyway, they went off to see Matron, while I kept reading ‘I am the Cheese'. But about an hour later I had to go to the gym, and on the way I passed Mrs M sitting in her car. Mrs Graham had gone, and Marina had gone, and her mother was there alone, bent over the steering wheel. You could tell she was crying.

A
PRIL
6

I met this guy at the beach over Easter, when I went for a run late one afternoon. It was the only good thing that happened at Easter. His name's Peter Fallon-White, and he goes to Walford College. Saw him a few times after that and we talked a bit. He seems a nice guy. Anyway, he rang up tonight—it was quite good. I haven't heard from Huw in so long I guess that's faded into non-existence. But if he wanted to drop me I wish he'd done it face to face, instead of not getting in touch, and having his mates say he wasn't there whenever I rang up.

I haven't seen Dad for so long and I honestly don't give a piece of popcorn and I really mean that.

Marina's freaking out now. Maybe it was her mother's visit. She was pretty upset after the movie Saturday night. I tried to give her a hug tonight but she ran away.

A
PRIL
7

Friday nights are so boring. The latest craze is to set the video to tape ‘Those Around Us' during the day, then replay it at night. Tonight they watched two episodes in a row. Two hours of it, it's unbelievable. Instead of doing that I talked to Cathy for ages—there's no doubt about her, she's good to talk to. She's in love with a guy called Andy who she met at a party a few weeks ago. He sounds like a bit of a winner. The photo she had of him wasn't too flattering, but it was hard to tell—he was just one in a big group, and they were all off their faces.

I envy Cathy her life. They live on a property called ‘Moonibah'. It sounds great, a lot like ‘Connewarre' except that ‘Connewarre' was on the coast. I guess that's a big difference, but the lifestyle sounds so similar . . . I don't know why I liked ‘Connewarre' so much . . . the space, for one thing, and the stock-work of course. Mum and Dad were better when they were there too—not so many arguments. We didn't have people coming and going all the time, like at Mt Sandon. I get sick of all the visitors there. ‘Connewarre' was peaceful. There were times when I didn't have the least idea of what day it was. I remember so much of it—but not enough. I'm scared that if I don't remember every detail, then bits of it will die, piece by piece, paddock by paddock. I work hard at remembering it. I think I liked it most at night, when so many stars filled the sky I could see my way to the cabin by their light. I liked the possums too, the way they used the network of trees like a giant expressway system. I especially liked the dry summer nights when the harvesting went late, with the headlights and spotlights shining so strongly, and the machinery throbbing away. For a while we had some Boobook Owls in the garden. They lived in the tops of the trees during the day and flew around at nights. One night as I went to the cabin, one of them was on the washing line, less than two metres away, watching me with great interest, but without moving or showing any fear. It was all wonderful to me: I believed in everything while we were there. I even liked things other people didn't, like the clatter of the grasshoppers in the dry grass, and the smell of sheep and the smell of fertiliser and the way little black ants had huge conventions in the kitchen when we left any food out. The dogs were great. We had lots of dogs, always at least four, sometimes six or seven. They were so good with the sheep. They'd ride on the back of the motorbikes, or in the ute, but they loved their work like no human I've ever seen. We had one old dog, Mollie, she was so clever. We used to tie a pup to her sometimes, when she was working sheep, so the pup would learn from her. She resented it though—I think she thought it was undignified. One time she disappeared for a few minutes and when she came back to the yards the pup was gone. We all went searching, but it took about ten minutes to find him—somehow she'd managed to dump him in the water tank, and he'd been paddling for all that time to stay afloat. He was tired when we found him—I don't think he'd have lasted much longer.